Perfect Son
by Lestatian
Summary: Draco idolises his father and strives to be the perfect son. So why does Lucius want to send him away? COMPLETE
1. Innocent

Disclaimer: Nothing from the realm of Harry Potter do I claim to own or is mine in any way.  
  
Warnings: Er, actually, I think this is the first thing I've written where I don't need to put any!! Not yet, anyway. Please review.  
  
Perfect Son  
  
Lucius has summoned Draco to visit him in his study. Draco does not know why this is so, for Lucius has never called for him in this manner before. He will go to him. The thought of disobeying his father is absolutely inconceivable. Draco lays down the book he is reading, and the quill in his left hand and puts them neatly away. It's something people never appreciate about Draco. That small eye for detail.  
  
He passes his mother on the way. There was a time, when Draco was smaller, when he looked to Narcissa for love and guidance. Not any more. Since Draco left last year to go to Hogwarts his mother has had no time for him. It is coming to the end of the summer. Now he is growing used to the cold stares, if they ever rest upon him at all. It hurt him at first. He asked Uncle Severus why Narcissa was acting this way but he gave him no answer. Draco never asked again.  
  
He walks the long corridor up to Lucius' study. He knows the way exactly, although he has rarely been this way in the manor before. This is his father's domain and he is not allowed here unless given express permission, even if it is his birthday and his parents are not there to give him gifts. Draco learned patience with his family at a young age. It does not occur to him to wonder if this is strange. To him, it is right.  
  
Not only right, it is law.  
  
He stops just outside his father's study. He can hear voices inside, and he suddenly wonders whether his father wants him here after all. But he can never doubt Lucius. Lucius is the one person who he must submit to in every way. So he raises his hand to knock.  
  
He knocks softly, for it is rude to bang and he has been taught to always do the right thing. Before coming to Hogwarts he had tutors who taught him etiquette. He never thought he'd have a lesson in how to knock.  
  
He hears his father's voice calling him to enter. He slowly opens the door and steps in, heart beginning to race as he suddenly hears the room go silent. He sees his father standing in front of the fire, and knows immediately that something is wrong. He knows Lucius better than anyone, and that rigid stance and the shape of his shoulders show his unease. Quickly scanning the room, he sees Uncle Severus looking tired and grave in a nearby armchair. Their eyes meet and Draco can see Severus trying to tell him something. He however does not have time to decide what it means before his name is rasped by another guest. He turns quickly, too quickly for his tutor to allow, and finally sees the last occupant of the room.  
  
His father claims him to be a man named MacNair. Draco doesn't like him. The man's eyes search him, strip him. Draco cannot help his lip from curling. The man is well dressed, but without taste. He has no grasp of etiquette, and his hair is not nearly as well maintained as his fathers. But the longer MacNair and Draco stare at each other the more Draco can't take his eyes off him. What at first appears to be a rough unkempt appearance speaks more of endurance and strength. And his eyes make Draco shiver.  
  
Only the feel of his father's hand upon his shoulder breaks their connection, and for a fleeting moment Draco suddenly hates his father. Then he looks at him and he feels heartbroken, for his father is dearest to him above all things and in his eyes there is no being more wonderful. He feels shamed that a momentary lapse could make him feel such things. From then on Draco avoids MacNairs gaze.  
  
His father invites him to sit, and Draco can feel everyone's gaze on him. He wishes someone would tell him why he is here, or why this strange man is sitting in his father's study. He is not worried that Severus is here. He is here often enough, and sometimes he even comes to see Draco. Usually they talk about potions and Hogwarts, but last time Draco felt that Severus really wanted to talk to him about something else. But this is as far as he can discern Severus's emotions. He is a hard man to read, and when he chooses can hide his feelings from anyone, save Lucius.  
  
He is certainly masking his feelings today. Draco wonders why this is so, then decides it is because of MacNair. He feels helpless as talk drifts onto idle matters, and he desperately wishes he was in his chambers by himself and not with the three men. He is brought a drink, and although his throat feels dry as he tries to melt into the background he does not accept it, so great is his fear that he will make a fool of himself. Suddenly, the thought of shaming himself in front of this audience seems unbearable. He wonders why this is so. Although he is careful in front of Lucius, he knows he is capable of restraining his stupidity through many years of practice. Severus he does not care one way or the other whether he spills his drink or slurps it rudely. So it must be MacNair.  
  
Draco is confused. He feels drawn to MacNair, and can feel the heat rise to his face when the man's eyes are on him. He instinctively draws closer to his father. Although Lucius must not be made a fool of at least he is family. He is home.  
  
Draco treasures his father's smiles, as they are so rare. He works so hard to bring them to his fathers' face but so often he is unsuccessful. Sometimes Draco thinks he should stop his attempts at pleasing his father, but then Lucius will surprise him and gift him with his grace. It is Draco's ambition to make his father laugh. Oh, he can make him chuckle, or snort, or maybe even grin, but he longs to hear the tones of his father's true laughter. The way he laughs when he is with Severus. He longs to hear his father laugh and know it is because of him.  
  
The most treasured memory that Draco has is when Lucius looked at him the day before he went to Hogwarts. Lucius said nothing. He merely gave Draco a gaze of quiet pride, of the confidence his son would succeed in the world beyond home just as he did. Draco wishes he could have captured that moment more perfectly than in his memory. It is the light he turns to when he is inside his lowest moments, when all other things seem dark. Draco loves his father so much he hurts inside. He needs these moments, these memories, or else he would not make half the effort he does just to survive.  
  
Finally, after nearly an hour of trivialities and politics, MacNair speaks. He speaks to Draco of taking him away, away from his father and to his home to teach him more of the world. Draco stops listening after that. He can hear MacNair continue to speak but the sound is muffled, and his body taken over by the shock. His body grows stiff, and he can feels tears pricking the back of his eyelids but he retains enough force of will to deny them to fall. He does not understand why his father would wish him to leave. Or why he has to go with MacNair. Why doesn't he send him to Severus? Why MacNair? The earlier connection he felt with the man goes forgotten. He feels terror, and panic, and a sense of loss so acute he is overwhelmed and must leave. He does what he never thought he could do before and stands up and quickly leaves the room without begging his father's leave or saying farewell to the manor's guests.  
  
He gets down to the next passageway before stops, and has to make a conscious decision not to hyperventilate. As soon as he gets his breathing under control he formulates his next decision. To get out of the Manor and away before anyone notices.  
  
However his escape is hampered before he even turns the corner, as he runs straight into Uncle Severus, who gently but firmly grasps him by the shoulders, gets on his knees so they are of a height and Severus can look into the child's eyes. Severus, in appearance, is the complete opposite to Lucius. Where Severus is dark and sallow and shadowed Lucius is fair and light and radiates beauty. Draco would never say his father is handsome. He is simply beautiful.  
  
Severus, unexpectedly does not say anything. He does not try to comfort Draco with false hope, or promises that cannot be kept. He simply tells the child with his gaze that he is sorry that this had to happen. And in this moment, Draco knows why he is being sent away. 


	2. Rebellious

Authors Note: This is to be part two of five. I do not own anything from Harry Potter nor do I pretend to. No warnings for this chapter. Many thanks to those who reviewed - keep them coming, please!!!!  
  
Part Two  
  
Draco is sixteen and has changed greatly since he was young. No longer is he innocent, naïve and eager to please. Life has been very different these past few years. It has taught him many lessons, and not just those he has attended at Hogwarts.  
  
Draco is on the Hogwarts Express at the end of fifth year coming home. Although he will return to Malfoy Manor after he steps off the train, the entirety of the summer will not be spent there. Voldemort has returned. Draco will follow in his father's footsteps and become the new right hand of his Lordship when he becomes of age and is worthy of so exalted a rank.  
  
Draco is content with his future. Of course he is scared of serving the dark lord, but he knows if he plays his cards right and doesn't mess up then he will be fine and be able to indulge his darker nature. Four summers with MacNair have taught Draco not to mess up. In fact, one summer taught him not to.  
  
He will stay at the Manor for the customary two weeks, then will travel to MacNair's for the duration. This summer is to be different, however. He is to attend upon Voldemort when he is requested and his measure is to be taken. Draco does not mind this. He is confident he will succeed.  
  
The train pulls into Kings Cross Station and Draco neatly steps off the train, flanked on either side by Crabbe and Goyle, who are also to be in training for Voldemort's rule this summer. He walks idly down the platform, and recognizes the black car waiting for him at the end. As usual his parents are not there to welcome him. Draco is not hurt by this. He does not even care.  
  
The car is of course magical and they arrive in the Malfoy estate within ten minutes. Draco waits for the door to be opened, then steps out and walks towards the doors. When in the hallway, he permits himself a leisurely study of his surroundings. Nothing has changed. The flowers still lie in oriental vases on the staircases and windows, a measure by one of the more imaginative house elves. The floor is still black marble, the drapes are still a deep purple. Draco snorts softly. His mother believes that any guests they receive will be impressed with such narcissistic frippery. She lives in her own little world.  
  
He turns to mount the stairs when he is taken by surprise. His name is said softly in the well-known tones of his father. Draco nearly jumps, but catches himself in time. He turns, and cannot help the rush of excitement, the small amount of adrenaline that begins to be pumped through his body. His father hasn't changed; no matter how many years he goes and comes back again. Still is the long white blonde hair, left draped over his shoulders and down his back. Still do the pale sharp features and they ice grey eyes take in every detail, searching for flaws. Still does Draco long him to smile and praise him. Recognize him for becoming a son worth being proud of. A son worth loving.  
  
Draco's lip curls with the thought. His father notices and raises an eyebrow. Draco hastily rearranges his features, then inwardly curses himself for doing so. Lucius inclines his head and Draco follows him. Being careful to show restraint in his speed. He wouldn't want to waste years of etiquette lessons, now would he?  
  
They stand in the study, father and son, though more like master and pupil, for Lucius stands tall behind his desk and Draco, still shorter, to his consternation, stands in front, trying to force himself to act as arrogant as he does at school. The only problem is, is that at school it is natural, whereas here his father makes him feel young and foolish.  
  
"You have done well this year," says Lucius. From any other persons lips it could be constructed as praise, or simply credit. From Lucius's mouth it sounds like a rebuke.  
  
Draco says nothing. He is not required to, and anything he could say would not be appreciated. He stands, his face devoid of emotion, when inside, he feels the disappointment that is so familiar to him. He hates himself for feeling. Lucius has done nothing to deserve his devotion.  
  
Lucius stares at Draco and sees him. It is as if he knows the thoughts that are running through his head, and merely stands there, studying. Lucius is proud of Draco, in his own way. He understands why Draco feels the way he does. But Draco's feelings are not Lucius's concern. His time is precious, and Draco will grow out of his adolescence sooner or later.  
  
Suddenly Lucius snaps to business. "We have a formal dinner this evening. Make sure you are prepared. We have guests of importance." This is all he has to say. Draco now knows that this evening will include testing and Voldemort. Though how he is not sure - he is still underage and therefore must not use magic outside Hogwarts. Looking at his father he realizes it will involve pain. Though whether he is to be dealt it, or be the dealer is yet to be made clear. Draco nods, and leaves.  
  
Later he surveys himself in front of his mirror. He sees a handsome young man or good breeding and bearing. He does not see Lucius in himself. He sees the physical similarities in his coloring and stature but inside, in himself, they bear no resemblance.  
  
He is hesitant to descend the stairs. It is not that he is afraid - it is of an unshakeable feeling that this evening will not turn out the way he expects. Draco hates being wrong. Especially in front of Lucius. Straightening his shoulders, he reminds himself he is a Malfoy, and then strides confidently through the manor.  
  
Slowing when he reaches the dining room, his formal robes rustling as he walks, he is surprised, for there are more guests than he expected. Crabbe is here, so is Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson. He lets his face show no reaction, though inside he is horrified, for he has no desire to harm those dear to him. His attention is drawn away when a familiar cloaked figure steps out the gloom, and as Draco turns he sees with him Pettigrew, Snape and Lucius. Voldemort hisses and Draco's eyes snap to him, and he immediately sinks too his knee and bows his head. Voldemort runs his scaly hand over Draco's fine scalp and through his hair. He has to suppress a shiver, and is proud of himself for showing no reaction.  
  
The hand that was gentle suddenly turns sharp, and Draco's chin is gripped and forcefully driven upward. His eyes open and they stare into the inhuman eyes of the Dark Lord. Voldemort smirks, a strange twisting of the lips that would most likely scare the wits out of any normal adolescent. But Draco is not a normal adolescent - he has seen many strange and terrifying things in his short years. And Voldemort means nothing to him. Voldemort can do nothing to him that someone else has not done already.  
  
Draco rises, and is handed a glass of champagne. The atmosphere is charged, everyone is waiting on him, stealing a glance at his Father, he realises Lucius is waiting on him too. He finally turns back to Voldemort, suddenly unsure of what is expected. Before when he had meetings with the Dark Lord he was never in control of the situation. His mind begins to race. So too does his heart.  
  
He nearly jumps when Voldemort speaks. Nearly. "Draco..." he purrs. "I have a gift for you."  
  
Voldemort reaches into the depths of his cloak and brings out a wand. Draco's heart sinks, if possible, even further. "Do you know what this is? This is a Rumanian Deerlix wand, made from the hearts of dragons, the feathers of phoenixes and coated in diluted blood of a baby unicorn. Needless to say, these wands are extremely rare and extremely hard to come by." Voldemort pauses for effect. He does not have to. Everyone in the room already knows what else he is going to say. But they are wrong.  
  
"I am not giving this wand to you permanently, Draco. Shall we say it is on loan? You may use it tonight, and if you demonstrate you have the will and the capability to wield it effectively, then I may consider lending it you on a more long-term basis. Obviously, this is a great honour, for one such as yourself. You should be very grateful Draco. This is your chance to prove yourself to those that are higher that you are a worthy heir to the Side of Darkness."  
  
The room gasps. Even Lucius and Snape. The only exception is Draco. His mind is racing too fast for his body to take any notice.  
  
"This wand is one of only three in the world, and I went to great lengths to get it. It has no magical signature, and cannot be detected by any methods available, to either the Light or the Dark. Since you are underage and cannot use magic outside Hogwarts, I will let you have the use of this wand. I cannot have you wandering about for two months doing nothing, and not practicing magic. We must take advantage of every opportunity that is available to us."  
  
Draco's cheeks burn, and he knows it, and he can do nothing to stop it. Voldemort knows he did not do nothing every summer. He must know it. He must know the sacrifices Draco has made in his name. They must mean something to him. He needs to know they meant something.  
  
Draco mentally slaps himself, and tries to school his features into something appropriate. Voldemort is watching him closely. So too, is everyone in the room. The wand is slowly held out to him. Taking it, a jolt of pure magic runs through him, startling him. Holding it, he begins to feel excited. Through this wand he can do anything. If only he can get through tonight and keep this wand, then the world is at his disposal. All his dreams can be made real. All his hopes will finally be realised. Looking up slowly at Voldemort, he nods, and says, "My Lord, I am very grateful for the honour you have bestowed on him. I give you my word I shall not disappoint."  
  
Coming forward, Voldemort smiles. "You shall find yourself held to that, Master Malfoy." 


	3. Powerful

AN: Sorry this took so long in coming. I started work on a major fantasy novel and have been engrossed in that for the past few months. Reviews are welcome. Thank you.  
  
Part Three  
  
"Congratulations, Draco. You've now completed your schooling and are ready to face the outside world." Lucius hands his son a glass of drink, which Draco is slow to accept.  
  
"I think you'll find that I've been facing the outside world since I was twelve, Father," Draco retorts, and turns away.  
  
He cannot bear this champagne reception. Tonight means nothing. He has finished Hogwarts, with excellent passes on all his chosen NEWTs and is about to take his place as son of the family, with perhaps taking a place in the Ministry. But of course he has other things to do. He was initiated into the Death Eater ranks at Christmas time, his eighteenth birthday taking place in early December. Since then Draco has provided his expertise at both wandless and stealth magic, swiftly mounting his way through the ranks. He has both killed and tortured for the Side of Dark.  
  
Draco scans the room, taking in all those that stand there. For the most part, the usual crowd. His father, Snape, Avery, Lestrange, MacNair, Crabbe, both father and son, as with Goyle, and surprisingly the elder Parkinson. Draco snubbed that family two months before, and nearly lost his inheritance, not that he could care. Draco had been betrothed to Pansy since fourth year. Almost at the last minute he had refused to marry her. His eyes lay elsewhere.  
  
He sips his champagne, reveling in the awkward atmosphere, the charged tension. He knows he will kill tonight. His body is running with adrenaline, he wishes this damned party would be over and Voldemort would arrive so they can hunt. It is getting more dangerous now. Since the death of several Hogwart's muggle borns, the Ministry and Dumbledore's side have been getting more wise, and better at ferreting out information. So they must be careful when stepping out the Manor tonight.  
  
He feels MacNair's presence before the man speaks to him. He gets closer than Draco would normally allow, but Draco has long since gotten used to MacNair's methods. He doesn't even flinch anymore. "Hello, MacNair," he says softly.  
  
"Draco, I must also congratulate you on your results from that infernal shitehole. It's the only polite thing to do, so I'm told."  
  
Draco snorts. "Politeness has never been your foremost quality. Tell me why it has suddenly become so important to you."  
  
MacNair has been drinking, and it shows slightly in the tinge of his breath and the spark in his eyes. Still he radiates power and ruthlessness. Draco smiles slightly at his mentor. MacNair has taught him everything MacNair knows.  
  
It never used to be like this. But Draco has come of age and he is no longer afraid of this man. He knows his proficiency in dark magic has overcome even that of his father, let alone MacNair. He cannot intimidate Draco any longer.  
  
Draco turns around and faces MacNair head on. "If you have something to say, I believe you should say it."  
  
The older man draws himself up and faces the blonde eye to eye. "Do you remember, when you were fourteen, and you had displeased me, on a fine summer evening...?"  
  
Draco's pulse begins to race. He plays for time. "There were most likely many such occasions where that description would fit. Pray, be more accurate, MacNair."  
  
"I see you've inherited your Father's smart lip, boy. It doesn't care a bit if you've suddenly left school and come of age. To me you will always be the boy I broke and moulded in the way I wanted."  
  
Draco's eyes flash. "You'd better be careful. I might have a smart lip, as you so skillfully put it, but I have reason to be. One smart word from you and I could kill you where you stand."  
  
"But you won't. I know you. You're forgetting I know everything there is to know about you. I made you the way you are. When you first came to me you were a weak little child who's only ambition was to be Daddy's lap dog. Due to my tutelage you might have a hope one day of being a proper man. The night I am speaking of was the night where you had yet again failed the task I set you. I made you mine that night. You belonged to me and you still belong to me, Malfoy. And I think it's time to remind you of that. Tonight you will submit to me."  
  
"Oh, you think so?" Draco says slowly, trying to keep the shakiness out of his voice. He does indeed remember that night. He'll always remember it. But why MacNair was asking for trouble now was beyond him. Teach him a lesson? Not now. Not anymore. It was time to see MacNair on his knees, begging for mercy. Time to see MacNair's blood on the stone.  
  
"Draco," a voice drips. Automatically he turns and falls to one knee. The customary hand is run through his hair, and down to his face. Draco is the new favourite, and everyone knows it.  
  
The hand guides him upward and as he looks into the thing's eyes a gesture is made to the fireplace. One by one they floo to Draco's choice of hunting ground, masking their wands and their magical signatures. Draco cannot help grinning as they make the journey. This is an honour few have realised. The Dark Lord is pleased with his efforts. There is not much further to rise. And tonight he has his Wand.  
  
The Deerlix wand gifted to him two years before is Draco's only addiction. Still every time he lifts it, uses it, that amazing feel of power runs through him, making him of the Dark. It isn't long before Draco succumbs to it, killing quickly, savouring the sensations. Voldemort looks on, proud and content. Lucius looks resigned, but not Severus. He's been standing there looking on for far too long, and tonight is the night where everything will change. But before he can make his move MacNair interrupts.  
  
"Malfoy!" he snarls, standing in position.  
  
Draco, under the influence of the Wand, turns and grins widely, before moving to the dueling position. Spells fly and emotions rise. No-one makes any move to come between them. No-one dares risk Draco's wrath. No-one.  
  
"You need reminding, boy," MacNair calls. "You've gotten ahead of yourself. It's all rushed to your head. You need a lesson, and I was always so good at giving you lessons," MacNair smiles, a horrible smile, but Draco isn't chilled. Due to the Wand he is exhilarated, ready to face whatever life throws at him. And MacNair would realise this, if he was half as clever as he claims himself to be.  
  
Severus watches, apparently detached, but extremely alert. MacNair may have given him the chance he so desperately needs. His eyes find Parkinson, and the man for a second returns his gaze, confirming that they are thinking upon the same lines. Then they return to the duel.  
  
Draco lands MacNair with Cruciatus and Voldemort turns away bored. Draco and MacNair care not that they have lost their audience. It has gone far beyond pettiness. Draco will never forget the three long summers he spent with him, the pain he went through, the delight that MacNair showed when he cried. Maybe Draco did learn something from him after all. But his learning has gone further than even MacNair knows.  
  
Draco comes forward, and watches MacNair writhing on the ground, twitching in agony. He kicks him. Hard. He removes the Cruciatus and watches MacNair struggle to recover, then dodges the next two curses sent his way. "I'll get you, Malfoy," MacNair calls. He returns from the Cruciatus quickly – clearly he has had a lot of practice. The older man lunges towards Draco, eyes manic with greed and the desire to kill, an expression mirrored in Draco. If only Draco could be objective about the situation. In his hatred, he has become his mentor.  
  
Draco focuses on MacNair, and sends a curse that takes out MacNair's legs from under him, and he falls, his head making a sickening thud on the floor. Blood flows across the white stone. It causes Draco's mind to reel and he turns away sickened, remembering when that had happened to him, and the pretty picture his blood had made. He looks one last time. And raises his wand for the killing curse.  
  
In that moment, he is focused, so focused on the scene before him. The wand makes him reckless, heady, willing to do anything to get rid of the man who beat him, locked him away and took away his clothes. He steps forward, MacNair not moving, apparently unconscious, his blood forming an ever growing pool. But something stays Draco's hand. Something draws him to the man on the floor, and he drops his wand.  
  
Everyone is watching.  
  
The wand lies untouched, for no-one would dare to take something marked as Draco's. A muffled whisper breaks the pure silence, but it is quickly covered up by a cough, and due to the masks covering their faces it is not known who it was. But that is not what everyone is focused on.  
  
Draco falls to his knees, and pulls off MacNair's mask. He runs his hand through the older man's hair, and tears begin to fall, and Draco bends down to kiss the man who he hates the most, and revels in the agony that he feels. No reason runs through Draco's head, no explanation for what has suddenly come over him, but he feels compassion, and regret, and a deep love for MacNair.  
  
Then all goes black and he knows no more. 


	4. Hurt

AN: Second to last part. This returns to an earlier point in time. Thank you to all those who have read and reviewed, you are what makes writing worth the while. The last part will not be long in coming.  
  
Warnings: Bit nasty, this chapter, the certificate goes up.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Harry Potter.  
  
Part 5 will be put online in a couple of days or so.  
  
Part Four  
  
Draco does not want the school year to end. He counts down the days with an ever-increasing dread, knowing that he cannot stem the flow of time but wishing wholeheartedly that he could find some way to do it. Nobody understands his melancholy as the summer months approach, and he can tell nobody the reason why. Draco is young, but foolishness was left behind a long time ago.  
  
He works hard, harder than anyone else in Slytherin House, hoping and hoping that he will do well in the exams this year. He knows that to beat Hermione Granger is impossible. But Draco is used to second best, and he knows that that is all he can hope for.  
  
But no matter how hard he studies, no answer of how to stop the summer holidays from approaching surfaces, but by the time he has packed and is sitting on the train, he no longer cares. He has resigned himself to his fate, and will see it through with dignity.  
  
Arriving at the manor, he finds it deserted. Nobody has come to welcome him home. Draco is glad, although he reminds himself he shouldn't be, and walks quickly to his room. It has not changed, although the dust has not been allowed to settle – marks of the many house-elves the manor uses. His books, the ones he is not allowed at Hogwarts, lie in rows across from his bed, and he quickly gets one out, and thumbs through it.  
  
"Draco...." A voice purrs. Draco jumps. He had not notice Lucius enter his room.  
  
Lucius looks beautiful, as always, and walks gracefully to the foot of Draco's bed, holding his gaze. Draco looks upon his son, just entering the first stages of puberty at the tender age of fourteen. Draco is a late starter, but that is a hereditary trait of the Malfoy family. Lucius likes it – it proves the Malfoy's do not need to prove themselves to anyone.  
  
He does not regret sending Draco away. Draco needs to change, and as he can see from the light still shining in Draco's eyes as he looks at him, he knows that Draco must go away again. Draco's emotions are too fresh, too raw, and it is too dangerous for Draco to have those qualities, else he will be taken advantage of.  
  
So back to MacNair he must go. Lucius does not hesitate.  
  
"You leave tomorrow, my son." Draco bows his head, the light gone. He tries to feel nothing. This is the point of the exercise. No emotion, no subjection, just cold and ruthless, just like Lucius.  
  
"I will pack my things," Draco mumbles, and raises his head. But Lucius has already left.  
  
The next morning he dresses slowly, delaying the inevitable, but the hour soon comes and he walks to his father's study. MacNair is waiting for him, a smile on his face as soon as Draco walks through the door. Draco's eyes do not meet his, for he knows the penalty for such a crime.  
  
Lucius thanks MacNair, and looks at his son, before sighing. He will check on Draco's progress within a week. It is more than some fathers do, he knows that.  
  
MacNair's home isn't a manor, it is made of cold grey stone, and it smells damp, but it is warm and lit with magical fires, and animal heads line the walls. Draco only sees the upstairs of the house as they arrive. He will spend the entirety of the summer beneath the house.  
  
He is locked into a room, which contains nothing in it besides a bed, a basin and a bucket. There he is left. There is no light, and Draco's eyes soon accustom to the eerie yet familiar shapes in the room. It is silent. Draco closes his eyes and sleeps, knowing that if he does not he could regret it later. Last time he was deprived of sleep for four days, before collapsing from sheer exhaustion. He has no idea of what will come this time.  
  
He is left in this room for two days. Water appears, but no food, but Draco hardly notices. He has never been one for eating, and he finds no pleasure in it. If it were not for the fact he would die if he did not, Draco would never touch food. He cannot remember who put the idea into his head that food was dirty. He decides he does not care.  
  
Then he is taken out, and his eyes sting and burn with the light. He is given a meal to eat, and MacNair watches, and once they are done, MacNair gets out a book.  
  
"If you were told you had to, would you kill a man, Draco?"  
  
Draco thinks quickly. He has the feeling that whatever he says will not please the man before him. If he says yes, he will be accused of being a coward and not worthy of the name of Malfoy. If he says no, he will be cuffed for disobedience.  
  
"It depends who told me so, Sir," he offers after a time.  
  
"Not good enough!" MacNair snaps, in a sudden burst of temper. "There is no middle ground in this life, Draco, you either commit yourself to one side or other, do you understand? Now answer me."  
  
"Yes," Draco mumbles, suddenly frightened of what could follow. It does not come, for MacNair leans back in his chair, looking thoughtful. "Get up and come here," he says softly.  
  
Draco shivers, then comes to MacNair's side. He is beckoned to hold out his hand, and MacNair takes it, running his dirty fingernails across the skin whilst Draco stands impassive. Then the wand comes out, and is pressed into Draco's palm. Intense pain swiftly runs through him, and he cries out, desperately trying to pull his hand away, but the grip around his wrist has tightened and there is no way he can get loose. "Wrong answer, Draco," MacNair hisses.  
  
He throws him to the floor. Draco passes out, and when he comes to he is bound, his wrists in manacles stretched above his head. He is topless, and he becomes aware of the smell, for he hasn't washed in days and the grime coats his exterior. His hand throbs, certainly not helped by the metal coils rubbing around his wrist, pushing his palms together.  
  
"Ah, you're awake," a cheerful voice calls from behind him. Draco is bound so tightly he cannot turn but he does not want to, for he must do everything he can to help himself in this situation. It does not bode well.  
  
Cold metal is pressed to his back, and Draco tenses painfully, anticipating the moment when the blade will press through the skin. It does not press through, but merely stays there, as MacNair begins to talk.  
  
"Do not tense, Draco, for it shows you fear the pain. Relax," he is commanded. It takes Draco a long time, but eventually he relaxes. Although his mind does not.  
  
"You must learn, Draco. I have no idea what happens when you return to Hogwarts, because every summer you come to me you are exactly the same. Do not fear. Do not love. Do not hope. Do not enjoy. Be a Malfoy. Be true to your heritage. Make your father proud of you."  
  
At this Draco flinches, and the blades pierces his skin making him arch, but the blade goes with him, and the pain begins to rush through his body. The blade begins to move, and he feels something being drawn on his body. His body threatens to pass out, but he tries desperately to stay awake, knowing he must pass this test. For father. For Lucius...  
  
No. Not for Lucius. For him.  
  
Then he forgets all promises as the magic seals the scar. It is horrific, the pain he feels, it surpasses all other punishments, and Draco cannot bear it, and he attempts to retreat to a land of his own devising, where there is comfort and warmth and there is no one left to hurt him.  
  
But MacNair will not let him, and brings him back just as he begins to fall, and then the true pain starts, and the violation, as the magic rips his body in two settling through him. Draco does not know what curse MacNair has laid upon him, but he knows that it is more serious than anything else he has ever experienced, and that Lucius has approved its use. Lucius....  
  
He screams as the penetration begins. Screams so loud his throat becomes raw and then bloody, as the first true emotion he has felt that day hits him with all the force of an Unforgivable. Hate. MacNair did not tell him he couldn't hate. He hates MacNair, and he hates Lucius, and he hates himself for failing them so unforgivably that they must do this to him. It seems to go on forever, this concoction of pain, torment, and magic, until it no longer seems unbearable, and Draco stops screaming, and begins to laugh.  
  
And that is when it all stops.  
  
And Draco cries, the tears flowing down his body, uncaring of further punishment. He is held close, though by whom he can not see, for his eyes are misted over and his head is buried in someone's shoulder. The smell is comforting, and Draco nestles his head inside the cloth. It smells of home. Draco's hands are released from the manacles, and he falls to the floor, no longer supported. He is taken upstairs and bathed, the water stinging his skin until a soft spell is whispered and the pain vanishes. Then he is dried, healed, and taken to a softly covered bed. The person holds Draco close. He opens his eyes to see who it is, desperately hoping it could be father. When he looks into the eyes of Severus, Draco's last hope dies, and he succumbs to sleep once more.  
  
MacNair is pleased when Severus tells him of this. Draco has finally learnt the lesson he's been trying to teach him for the past two years.  
  
Lucius does not check on Draco that week. 


	5. Alone

AN: Having never actually finished a story before, I was a bit unsure of how to do it. If it's horrible, ghastly, sickening, or anything else then please, tell me so.  
  
Thanks to GaBoO for reviewing.  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing from Harry Potter.  
  
Part Five  
  
Draco sits in his study, drinking wine. Red is his drink of choice, although sometimes he gets the urge for whiskey. His expression is distant, he is lost in thought of another place and another time. Much time has passed since then. The War is over, and Draco is twenty-five.  
  
MacNair died that night. It seemed that Draco hit him with one curse too many, and the fall damaged his brain.  
  
Something inside Draco died that night too. That was the night he was captured, taken to Ministry Headquarters and put under the influence of Veritaserum, robbed of all dignity and pride. Many wanted to put him into Azkaban, and he served his time there for two years, whilst the Side of Light, with the new information he had given them set about ending the war with new enthusiasm. Barely five months had passed before Voldemort was dead, killed by Harry Potter, and order began to be restored to the wizarding community at last.  
  
Draco knows all this because three months later, Severus came to see him in Azkaban. He barely remembers this, slumped in a cell corner, only vaguely aware of Severus's soft tones as he told him the news. Then they took him out. His place as son of the Malfoy family was resumed, and people went about their business as normal. Five years later, Draco was old news.  
  
His father had escaped capture. Narcissa had died during the war, in a flurry of Aurors searching the manor. Lucius claimed under the use of a truth potion that he was only acting under the Imperius curse. To this day, Draco does not know how he managed that one.  
  
Draco stops thinking, and stands up, walking to the window. He rents a flat in London, and it looks over Diagon Alley. It is late evening now, the shops are closed, with the Leaky Cauldron just opening for the night. Draco closes his eyes, his mood melancholy, his spirits low. He gets moods like these, where all the past does is haunt him and he cannot shake the memories of Azkaban.  
  
Once Draco had returned to normal life, he did his duty for his father and married. His wife bore a healthy son, and so continued the family line. Draco does not love Blaise, but he respects her, and in turn she respects him. Their son in one year old. Draco knows he will not do the same to his own as was done to him.  
  
He has at least that much humanity left in him.  
  
Lucius sees Draco rarely. He is now proud of his son, although he was angry for many years at letting himself be captured. But how can Lucius fault Draco for something when he did not see himself?  
  
As Draco leans against the window, a movement steps lightly into the back of the room. "Did you get him off to sleep eventually?" Draco calls softly, thinking it would be Blaise.  
  
"I passed him on the way. He was sleeping most peacefully," Lucius says.  
  
Draco's eyes open, but he does not turn round. The air goes slightly surreal, as it always does when he sees Lucius. He does not know why he is here. They have made no arrangement.  
  
Draco sighs, and eventually turns to look at the man who sired him. "A bottle of red is already open," he offers eventually. Draco feels nothing for Lucius. After MacNair died, so too did Draco's capacity to love. Lucius is just a man who Draco is bound to.  
  
Lucius ignores Draco's gesture, and sits down. Draco stares at him. For years Lucius' appearance never changed, he always looked young, as if time could never touch him. That is no longer the case. Lucius' eyes have lost their cunning, their spark, his hair has lost its lustre and he just looks...older.  
  
Lucius noticed Draco's gaze. "I miss your mother," he says, as a way of explanation. Draco does not feel anything by this statement. Narcissa abandoned him a long time before he abandoned Lucius.  
  
Draco sits down opposite his father. "To what do I owe this occasion?" he asks finally.  
  
"I think it's time we talked about things, don't you?" Lucius says, without expression.  
  
Their eyes lock. They look so similar, the only difference between them is time. Draco hopes that Blaise will soon come in and break up this charade. He has no desire to see his father.  
  
"I owe you an apology. I should never have let you go to MacNair," Lucius states.  
  
Draco raises an eyebrow. Where is this leading? Lucius continues. "You were so young. But I could not have let you stayed the way you were. Do you understand?"  
  
"I loved you. Love is not an acceptable emotion for a Malfoy."  
  
"You did just more than love me. You idolized me. You would have given your last breath for me. But that was dangerous. I knew that in order to become the man that you ought to have become you had to learn to control your emotion, shut it off. A Malfoy cannot afford to love, or want, or hope. They are weaknesses that others can take advantages of, and no ground can be given when it comes to predators. I had to send you to MacNair. I went through the same thing when I was growing up."  
  
Draco stays silent. Lucius tries again. "But I am sorry I sent you, because it broke you. I had thought you were stronger than you were, I did not realise the effect it would have, how you turned out when you became a Death Eater. Although your emotion had gone, you still had some sort of spark inside you, fed by that infernal wand. And you led them right to us. Because of the type of person I wanted you to be."  
  
"You're wrong, father. My emotion did not die under MacNair. I had hate. And I still had love. Just not for you anymore. I loved MacNair. I loved him because he took time with me. He gave me the attention and care than no- one else took. He was always there for me."  
  
Lucius looks confused. "But he beat you," he says.  
  
Draco smiles, but it is a cold smile, without warmth or laughter. "He did, and far worse besides. But at least he moulded me into the acceptable form for your son to be, and to me that meant everything. Until the night he died. Then I realised I wasn't trying to please you anymore, but him."  
  
Lucius feels a surge of emotion inside himself. Inwardly he feels a sudden horror, for such emotion he has not felt since he saw the body of his wife after the Aurors had killed her for obstructing their way. He chokes, unable to deal with this abrupt feeling. He cannot identify it. But it is taking over him, and he does not know what to do.  
  
Draco watches. He does not understand either the emotions on Lucius's face, as it seems as if the older man is in pain. He remembers abruptly that his grandfather died of a heart attack, and he leans forward, not out of concern, but out of curiosity. "Are you alright?" he asks.  
  
Lucius manages to get his emotions under control, although he now realises what has just been running through him. Jealousy. Pure and simple. And rage. How dare Draco have not loved him for another? How dare Draco have disobeyed him? He had sent Draco away to get over him, and had always been secure in that knowledge, until recently when he had even felt something akin to remorse for his actions. And Draco had betrayed him, like this.  
  
"You were always my son, Draco," he whispers at last.  
  
Draco stands, his interest waned. "I was only your son when it suited. The rest of the time I was not even part of your existence. Now, I have a wife and a son to give my attention. I think its time you took your leave, father."  
  
Lucius rises, and walks over. He raises a hand to Draco's cheek, but Draco turns his head away. In that moment, Lucius realises he has lost his son. And then he realises how much he meant to him, but never appreciated.  
  
He is rejected. Lucius turns away, broken, and leaves Draco's home. Draco stands there, locked in that same pose, pulse beginning to quicken, some of those same old feelings that he had thought were completely gone as he processed the events that had just happened. He has banished Lucius from his life. Now he can move on and begin properly, with no shadows hanging over him from his previous life. In a few short years, Lucius will die, Draco knows, and he will take over as head of the Malfoy family. But he will not live in Malfoy Manor again. It holds too many memories for him.  
  
Draco turns back to the window, and barely notices when two hands encircle his waist and hold him close until after some minutes have passed. Then he looks down, and turns around, and holds Blaise in an embrace that he has not given anyone in a long time. She is confused by his sudden behaviour, and looks up at him, eyes searching for his answer. In return, he drops a light kiss on her lips, and nuzzles his cheek against hers.  
  
"I got him off to sleep," she murmurs. Draco holds her back and walks to the room where his son lies sleeping. Looking down at him, he admires his likeness, with the soft blonde curls resting on his baby's head, the fists closed in sleep. And for the first time, Draco feels something. Pride. He knows he will not fail his son when he gets older. He is not Lucius. 


End file.
